


Goddess rising

by BethRedus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Greek Gods AU, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Multi, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-04 00:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethRedus/pseuds/BethRedus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hellas, age of the gods.<br/>The world is divided into the realm of the deities, and that of the mortals and it shall stay divided for all eternity. <br/>The gods possess divine power and astounding life spans, gifted with extraordinary strength and beauty.<br/>Mortals are mere mayflies to them.<br/>Most deities are born of the union two gods.<br/>Some are the result of a dalliance of a god with a mortal.<br/>And then there are the rare ones, born of two mortals, but with all the divine power of a god.<br/>The ones we call heroes.</p>
<p>Hermione, daughter of two former Egyptian slaves, is mere eleven when the goddess of wisdom appears to her, claiming her for Olympus. She sets out to become the heroine of the century and claim her rightful place in a world that is more beautiful and dangerous than she could have ever imagined.</p>
<p>But a war is on the horizon, a war against the god who claims to be master of death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Equinox

Hellas, age of the gods

A woman is walking through the fields of northern Thrace, fields that have been harvested not long ago. The dark earth is moist between her bare toes, the air cool as it rushes through her long auburn hair, making the slightly wilt flowers and wine leaves perched on hear head dance with agitation.  
With every step the world grows quieter.  
The land, the year, is dying.  
There are no farmers around to wonder why this lady, for a lady she is without doubt, is wandering barefoot through the bare stubble of the fields, startling the crows, making them flap around her like a dark and noisy thunderstorm of the season, stark against her fine white linen chiton with gold embroidery.  
Higher and higher into the mountains she climbs.  
No one, except a withered old man and his equally ancient donkey, crosses her path.  
His watery eyes widen with surprise, then recognition.  
,,Milady!” he rasps out, his voice cracking like dry wood, as he tried to straighten his crooked form to its tallest hight. ,,Milady, do not follow that path! It leads no where but to the woods. You must not enter those woods, they are dangerous. Strange things have happened there, many folk have gone missing between those trees to never return. They say the mist between the worlds is especially thin there, the divide between the realms of the living and the dead cannot be trusted. They say it is the entrance to the underworld Orpheus took. The entrance to Hades.”  
The woman brushes past him, as if he never spoke, as if he isn´t there, as if she is the unerring wind that seeps through the trees she is now rapidly approaching. She follows the path with a sure foot and unchanged pace.  
Each step a little of her color fades, the color of her auburn hair has changed to reddish gold, her eyes from violet to blue, her sun-kissed skin pales.  
She reaches the forest edge, mist unfurls from the branches overhead, to wrap it´s tendrils around her tall, slim form. She enters the shadow-woods without hesitation, wandering through the fog and the dark silhouettes of the trees. Her color still fades with every passing minute, her fine chiton snags on branches and tears, leaving her with less and less scraps to wear the farther she wanders. She doesn´t take notice, but unerringly presses on, like a ship on a sea of fog. The crown of colorful leaves has long dried up and crumbled away to brown dust, the garland of asters wilted and fallen to the ground. Her hair is lightly golden now, her eyes pale blue, her skin as pale as the highest noblewomans. Her body is bare, mist and shadow cling to her curves, wrapping around her. Her feet pad quietly over the forest flood, over leaves and twigs and roots and finally stone as she follows the hidden trail through the moss covered boulders that lay in a clearing, rising like mountains in the mist. But they are not the only sound that rises from the earth, a faint song, a haunted cry, a lament. It echoes between the rocks and resonances in her bones. The stones form a pathway into the rock itself, into a cave, a grotto. Pale light flares up as she begins her descent, step by step down a staircase carved from the very rock surrounding her, into the canyon. Deeper and deeper she delves into the darkness, countless steps, a never ending tunnel to the center of the earth.  
The faint sound of running water tells her she is close.  
A river, black as judged soul in Tartaros, lies at the bottom of the canyon, slowly winding its way through the darkness, small ripples liking it to a giant black snake or drakon, unearthly lament rises thick as the smoke from its depts.  
Styx, the last divide between the land of the living, and the realm of death.  
The boat is already waiting, as always.  
She steps on the barge, ignoring the figure ferrying her across, staring intently into the smoke that obscures her sight.  
She knows he is there, before she sees him. She can feel his presence at the rivers edge, watching, waiting, as they cross through the dangerous waters.  
The boat reached the other side. She finally loses the last of her color, her hair is a fine platinum white, long silk flowing tresses that glow like the moon, her eyes silver as two mirrors, her skin white as snow.  
An equally pale hand reaches out between the folds of a black cloak, taking her hand to help her out of the barge, as if she needed any assistance, as if she were some kind of delicate flower.  
She takes it anyhow, she knows he indulges in these little tender gestures.  
She steps on the riverbank.  
A crown of silver and garnets encircles her brow, her robes of mist and shadow solidify to gossamer and silk.  
She sees the entire court sink to their knees behind him, but her eyes never leave his face, a jubilant triumph in his terrible smile.

,,Welcome home, my queen.”


	2. The child of the prophecy

Eleven harvests ago

The small man kneeled at the taller mans feet, shaking in fear, not daring to move a muscle, like a rat caught in a snakes glare, knowing any attempt to flee means death.  
The tall man stares down at him with unblinking eyes, red as blood.  
“Where are they?”  
“Ktapodia! It is a very small island near...”  
“Both of them?”  
“Yes, the bloodtraitor and the mudborn.”  
“And the boy?”  
“With them.”  
He grinned, a cruel promise. “Perfect. Leave now, _arouraios_.”  
“Yes, my lord.”  
The small man scuttled away as fast as he could, the rat had survived another day.

 

A man stood on the highest point of the island, at the mouth of the cave he, his wife and newborn son had taken refugee in, watching the sky over the sea.  
His unruly dark curls were tousled even more by the wind that was picking up.  
Thunder growled in the distance. Clouds were rolling in at a frighting speed, but a storm was unusual for the time of year.  
Unnatural even.  
The realization struck the same moment as the lightning did. He was thrown back, eyes blind from the overexposure, hair singed off his arms he had thrown up instinctively.  
A figure emerged from the glare, stood in the scorched patch of stone.  
The man on the floor blinked several times, the stars dancing in front of his eyes, but he could still make out the deity in front of him.  
“KRINOS! HE IS HERE! RUN!” he shrieked out. ,,TAKE HERACLES AND RUN!”  
The figure gave an evil chuckle before spitting in half, falling to the ground as two huge snakes.  
The man watched in horror as one slithered into the cave, choking as the second wrapped it´s body around his and began squeezing the life out of him. He struggled against the overpower muscles without avail. His last though was a plea for his wife and child, as the snakes fangs dug into his neck.  
The second snake followed the sound of rapid breathing until it came upon the woman, the mudborn, in the very far end of the cage, bending over a wicker basket, shushing a distraught baby.  
She whirled around, even through its approach had been silent.  
The girl could sense him. She was clever this one, but not clever enough.  
The snake stopped an inch away from the green swirling barrier she had put up.  
“S-s-s-surrender the child! Or you s-s-s-hall die and join you hus-s-s-sband in Hades-s-s-s. The s-s-s-stupid bloodtraitor tried fighting me without his-s-s-s s-s-staff.”  
She choked on tears, but her gaze never wavered.  
“Never! You will never have my son!” she spat it the snake.  
It hissed in amusement and simply pushed past the barrier.  
She stumbled backwards, shielding the crib with her body.  
“No, not my son! Take me instead!” she shrieked.  
The snake raised its head, until it was nearly as tall as her.  
“S-s-s-stand as-s-s-side, s-s-s-silly girl.” it hissed.  
“Never!”  
“S-s-so be it!”  
The snake struck, it´s fangs flashing in the light of the oil-lamp, it´s heavy body coming down on hers, pinning her thrashing body to the floor and sinking it´s fangs into her throat.  
She shook one last time, then stilled.  
“Now, let´s-s-s-s get down to the real busines-s-s-s.”  
The other snake joined its side with a dry rustle of scales, merging back to one reptile.  
It slithered up to the crib in the corner of the cave, raising itself up to peer inside.  
“S-s-so this-s-s-s is-s-s the child of the prophes-s-s-sy. The one who bears-s-s-s the mark of Zeus-s-s hims-s-s-self.”  
A small boy lay inside, hair as dark and unruly as his fathers, eyes green as an unripe olive, the eyes of his mother, staring back at the snake, without fear.  
“What a dis-s-sturbing child.” it commented in a soft hiss. “I will finish this-s-s-s quickly.”  
The snake crept over the rim of the woven basket, shortening and slimming until it was barely as long as the little boys arm. It slithered upwards from his feet, over his legs and stomach. He wiggled underneath it. It finally came to a halt on his chest, raising its head, preparing to strike.  
Suddenly a small chubby fist shot out, grabbing the snake, taking it completely by surprise..  
,,It burns-s-s-s!” the reptile cried out.  
It withered underneath the touch of the soft baby-skin against its scales.  
The boy watched in fascination, squeezing it with a strength unnatural to a child that age.  
Squeezing it like it had squeezed his parents before.  
Squeezing it to death as it burned under his touch.

The deity began to panic, trying to revert back to his human form, but the small hands kept him in his place, in that form, squeezing the last breath out of him.

That is how they found him, asleep in his crib, with his thumb in his mouth, his other hand still tightly gripping the lifeless dangling form of a snake, that was the most dangerous deity known to Hellas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obviously this is the abridged form of what happened on Halloween in Godrics hollow.
> 
> Ktapodia. A tiny island in Greece. Here is the link for google maps if you´re interested: https://www.google.com/maps/place/Ktapodia+846+00,+Greece/@37.4101407,25.4264065,11z/data=!3m1!4b1!4m2!3m1!1s0x14a2b60a218ff131:0x78f65dcf25547a45
> 
> Arouraios. Greek for rat. Absolutely appropriate.
> 
> Krinos. Greek for lily.
> 
> Unripe olives: google pictures if you don´t believe me. They are really very green.
> 
> I am very sorry that the dangerous dark lord sounds like Kaa from the jungle book. But I had to.

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, that was sort of the teaser trailer. Points to anyone who can guess who the lady was.


End file.
